


Be My One and Only

by ceria



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-04 06:31:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4128352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceria/pseuds/ceria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of the initial prompt: 'Phil Coulson is Fury's one good eye, and Fury likes to take care of the people closest to him. After surviving getting stabbed by Loki, Coulson is a changed man. He's still scarily efficient, competent, and a BAMF SHIELD agent, but there's a shroud around him now—an almost unspoken question in his eyes as to whether the sacrifices he makes are worth it. Fury comes to the conclusion that, aside from SHIELD, the greater good and saving the world, Coulson needs a deep emotional bond to one person to give him something live for and something to fight for. So, he "suggests" to Clint Barton that Clint should be that person.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be My One and Only

**Author's Note:**

> Still posting old things! Written a few years ago so not AoS or AoU compliant whatsoever.

So sue him, he had a type. He'd established what he wanted in a partner _years_ ago and every man or women he'd dated since then had reflected that choice. And no, thank you very much, it wasn't Agent Phil Coulson. Except this was Fury asking, damnit, and Clint owed him. 

First rule of SHIELD – kill the compromised agent. And no one had killed him. Beat the shit out of him – way to go, Nat – but they let him live. The downside? Phil was his friend and Clint didn't have many of those. Fury's order-couched-as-a-request came the same day Coulson returned to work after the stabbing. 

"Anything, huh?" he'd said and Clint had nodded and left his fingers uncrossed (What? Circus superstition) and had been totally serious until Fury had to repeat the mission. "I've known Coulson for a long time, Barton. He's seriously considering retiring and leaving SHIELD and I need him. The Avengers need him. If we lose him, I'm going to put the blame for this totally on your shoulders."

"The request doesn't leave this room, right, Director?"

"It's not going on the books, not even in that one," Fury said, pointing to the safe in the wall that Barton had never managed to crack. He'd seen that book before, his first mission concerning Natasha was in it. 

"I'll report directly to you and no one else?"

"Yes."

"What do you want me to do?" _How far do you want me to go_?

"I'd mention that you're both bi but I'm not a pimp. Do whatever it takes to make him stay that you can live with."

"Will do." Typically Clint had Natasha or Phil help him develop covers for missions. Clint could do it alone and had in the past, but they always managed to find things he'd missed. Except this mission, mentally dubbed 'make him love me,' was something he couldn't get their help with.

Instead, he turned to Suzie in the records room. He gave her Fury's override code (don't ask how or why he has that) that meant she couldn't inform Coulson, as his handler, when Clint requested the notes for six past missions. The thing they all had in common? Either him or Nat had to seduce the mark. 

The trick of this was changing himself. He already knew Coulson's quirks and habits and didn't actually have to study those. What he needed help with was developing the reasons why he would suddenly make a one-eighty and pursue Coulson. In turn, that meant Coulson knew Clint inside-out as well. So he had to develop the reasons for his sudden change of heart and make them believable enough that it made him want a relationship with one of his closest friends.

Before leaving base, he hit SHIELD medical to watch Coulson during PT. Again, this was the new normal; Coulson always felt more comfortable when he had a friend there and Clint, Sitwell, and Natasha had begun taking turns three months ago as long as one of them was on base. A few times, Rogers had shown up and the joy of watching Coulson turn into a twelve-year-old-schoolgirl had been worth its weight in gold.

They hit a local diner afterwards, again nothing too out of the norm for them. That had started after New Mexico. Except that Clint was _thinking_ about it this time; Coulson didn't go to dinner with anyone other than Sitwell, who was happily married. On occasion, he'd ask Clint to join him for dessert or drinks at his place but Clint had always said no. 

Fury's direction to engage Coulson more personally left him thinking. The two of them were best friends. What if Fury knew something that Clint had never realized? The idea seemed absurd, considering master assassin also implied spy to an extent. Was it possible that he'd just missed the clues over the past year? He didn't think so; most of the past year Coulson had had a steady girlfriend who played in the local symphony.

Clint didn't really date. Sure he slept around but that wasn't the same thing and he knew it. He preferred direct women and men who were much more assholes than Coulson could ever be. They were all throw-away nights or brief relationships that would never amount to much. First, Clint traveled with SHIELD too much to be a steady boyfriend, second, he didn't actually believe a relationship based on a lie would ever last and Clint lied – a lot. He had to, considering his first question to a potential date wasn't ever going to be 'what's your security clearance?'

Except he wouldn't have to do that with Coulson, would he? And that, right there, was his in. Coulson's near death and Clint's mental battering from Loki had made him start thinking lately. Accepting that it was time he stopped pursuing meaningless nights of sex. The Avengers meant he couldn't be a spy much more, and probably not stay an assassin. They were too high-profile now. 

It was time for Clint Barton to grow the fuck up.

Maybe it wouldn't work with Coulson, and Clint had never surely considered it before, but maybe it would. He could keep this revelation to himself for now and see how it played out.

"So what did you bake this week?" Clint asked as they walked back the subway following dinner.

"Who said I made anything?"

"Part of your PT requirements is working on complex recipes – though I suspect Fury made Lisa tell you that just for his own benefit."

Coulson sighed and nodded. "White chocolate raspberry cheesecake. I was going to bring it in tomorrow."

"Really?" Clint stopped walking for a brief second. 

"Yes, Clint," Coulson said with a snort of laughter. "I'll save you a piece." And that was new as well – ever since he'd found out Coulson hadn't really died, he'd started referring to Clint by his first name instead of his last. Huh.

"I love cheesecake," he said with a sigh and started walking again. 

"I know," Coulson said, rolling his eyes. "It's why I picked that one."

"Because of me? Ahh, boss."

Coulson blinked at him, his version of surprise. "More because you've ordered it before and it looked complicated."

"And I'd know if you did a good job with it, right?"

"Yes, that too."

"So, I have to wait for tomorrow?"

Coulson blinked again and this? was a lot fun. "Unless you're following me home, then yes."

"Okay," Clint said, keeping a totally straight face as Coulson actually stopped walking and reached out, poking him in the chest, then right behind Clint's right ear. "What?"

"Just making sure you're real and not a Tonyfied LMD."

"Tonyfied?"

Coulson shuddered and nodded. "Stark's creepy that way. You never know."

"Nothing but flesh and blood here," Clint said, watching Coulson carefully enough to catch the slight twitch of shoulders. Clint stayed on the subway until Coulson disembarked and walked beside him up the six flights of stairs.

"No elevator?"

"Good exercise," Coulson said and it wasn't like Clint could disagree with that. 

At least it wasn't the Captain America shrine he'd expected. There was a beautiful lithograph of the Howling Commandos on the far wall and Coulson hesitated before pointing to the sofa. "Sit, I'll bring you a piece." Shoes, coat and scarf went onto the mat and rack by the door, Clint placed his there as well.

"What? I can't see the combination on your fridge?"

"More like I wasn't expecting company and didn't clean the kitchen after making the cheesecake this morning."

"Hah! I knew you were human."

"Shut up," Coulson groused, still pointing toward the sofa. Clint fell onto the center of the dark brown with hints of plaid monstrosity and sighed, wiggling his shoulders to get comfortable. Coulson still hadn't moved, just continued to watch him. He started a second later; heading around the curve to what Clint assumed was the kitchen. 

"The head?" Clint yelled, standing up when Coulson said down the hall. Two doors were open, on the left was a bedroom and Clint glanced over his shoulder before reaching inside to flick up the switch. The decent-sized bed was made, the comforter – varying shades of blue – thrown across half of the bed. Nothing else was out of place and, thankfully, there wasn't a Captain America poster in sight. He turned off the light, knowing he'd remember the placement of the small nightstand near the bed as well as the closed door (probably a walk-in closet) and the large dresser/mirror combination easy enough.

The bathroom was done in shades of brown with touches of light green. He used it and returned to find Coulson settled in the reclining chair, black socks on the coffee table, holding one piece of cheesecake with a second on the table for Clint.

Picking the end closest to Coulson, Clint picked up the fork and piece of cheesecake and dug in. One bite and he was making appreciative noises that left Coulson laughing and shaking his head. "Dork," he said and Clint winked at him.

"Go change, get comfortable. I can't imagine you leave your suit on at home." Hell, Coulson didn't even like to eat in his suits without carefully tucking a napkin into place after taking off the jacket, to keep it clean. 

"Okay," he said, tossing Clint the remote. "Help yourself."

He didn't have more than two shows recorded of most things and Clint picked the oldest option to watch, dated the week after Coulson had been stabbed. He got through the opening commercials and credits and paused it just as Coulson came back, black sweats, gray socks and sweatshirt and an army green t-shirt. They watched it together, snickering over the drama queens who made the train wreck more enjoyable to watch, remaining on their separate bits of furniture.

"I can help with the dishes," Clint said afterwards and Coulson shook his head no. He made his excuses for Clint to go and he didn't have much more of an excuse to change that. Not this first time. He'd work on staying longer later. It wasn't much of a first night, but it was more than Clint had expected. 

 

Not even two steps into SHIELD HQ and Clint found himself walking beside Fury. "Small steps, sir. I'm making them already."

"Good to know," Fury said, slapping Clint on the shoulder blade.

"Make sure you try that cheesecake," Clint whispered before Fury wandered off. 

 

He didn't want to wait an entire week to get the mission moving forward. Two days later he found himself continually heading down the hall toward Coulson's office. He didn't actually have a reason to go, his reports were done and Fury was keeping them two of them off missions. He said it kept them available for The Avengers but Clint suspected it had more to do with the other thing. In the end, he was Hawkeye and didn't really need a reason to go visit his handler. Coulson didn't even bat an eyelash as Clint wandered in and plopped into the comfortable chair, leaning back to raise his boots… "Don't even think about putting those on my desk, Barton."

"Sir. Yes, sir."

Coulson sliced off a piece of the yellow apple he was eating and handed it over. Accepting without a thought, Clint popped it into his mouth. "Check this for me?" Coulson asked, handing over a hard copy of the timeline of events from Loki first appearing to the battle of New York. 

It wasn't like Clint was going to forget much of that. "You never did ask for my report on this."

With a sigh, Coulson said, "Psych determined it would be best to wait for you to volunteer the information."

"Is this me volunteering then?"

"If that's all right."

"Of course," Clint said, pulling a burgundy pen – Coulson only kept it as a joke because it matched the colored trim on Hawkeye's uniform (he also happened to have several other pens that matched the rest of the team as well in that cup holder) – and started making notes in the margin as he read.

By the time he had finished enough to pull himself back out and glance up, Coulson had stopped working, watching Clint with his chin resting on his interlocked fingers, both elbows on the desk. "Sir?"

"Do you want to talk about it?"

First instinct would always be _no, never_ but Clint hesitated before saying that out loud. He'd talked to Psych and had been cleared, but they both knew that Clint processed things differently. 

"Somewhere else?" Coulson asked and Clint smiled and nodded. "I've got just the place," he said, beginning the process to leave for the evening.

The perfect location ended up being a roof, which Clint appreciated. Coulson had never been afraid of heights, never flinching or reaching out to grab Clint if he strayed too close to the edge. He walked along the wide brick edge with Coulson next to him, hands shoved into the pockets of his wool coat. Clint told him exactly what he recalled from his time under Loki's control (casual, sweeping memories and strangely specific conversations).

"I never mentioned you," Clint admitted.

"And that bothers you?"

"I told Loki _everything_ about Nat. He decided I was in love with her."

"Why did you fixate on her?"

"I think because I never feared he could hurt her. She's like him in some ways." Clint glanced at Coulson. "Psych freaked out when I said that."

"You mean a trickster? It's a good comparison. People see what they want to see with Natasha."

"You don't."

"I think I see her as you do."

"Sans the past sexual relationship?" Clint teased.

"I was always a little smarter than that," Coulson said.

"Then what? To sleep with the woman who's moniker is The Black Widow?"

"Exactly."

"Did you ever consider it?"

"Widow?" Coulson said, asking for clarification until Clint nodded. "No, not her."

He opened his mouth to ask 'another assassin then?' but Coulson was staring at him. Clint didn't actually need to ask the question.

He could have pushed the issue that night but Clint chose not to. He accepted the words with a nod and a slightly bashful smile as he jumped off the ledge and walked next to Coulson.

 

"Do you collect comic books?" Clint asked out of the blue and Coulson removed his hands from the keyboard, looking up at him.

"Why do you ask?"

"I hear there's going to be something released about the battle and the Avengers and I'm curious."

Coulson looked at his black suit and rolled his eyes. "I can't exactly go in there dressed like this."

"Are they open on Saturday, Mr. Man in Black?"

"I assume so."

"So let's go then."

They ended up in jeans, sweatshirts, and hiking boots, standing around the corner with steaming coffees in their hand as the store opened for business. Clint took the stairs two at a time, meandering around the store while Phil talked to the clerk. Jesus, there were a lot of things he couldn't even comprehend beyond skimpily dressed women.

"I'd suggest you never bring Natasha here," Phil said, bumping into Clint's shoulder, glancing at the comic that Clint held.

"I'd be afraid she'd burn the place down," Clint admitted. Widow's costume, like the rest of theirs, was obscenely form-fitted but at least it covered ninety percent of her body. "That has to be uncomfortable to fight in," he said, not sure what else to say.

Phil snickered and put it back, pressing his shoulder into Clint's to get him to move toward another stand. "I think what you want is over here."

Their purchases led to an in-depth conversation about Clint's childhood and a late lunch scrunched into a corner booth. "I feel drained," Clint admitted and Phil frowned, reaching across the table to rest the back of his hand against Clint's forehead. "I'm not sick, Phil."

"Does Dr. Freedman know about our conversations?" Phil asked and Clint frowned at him, not sure where this was going.

"No, why?"

He shrugged and watched Clint once more, as if ascertaining if that was the truth or not. "Just curious." After lunch turned into errands for the two of them and by nightfall, they ended up back at Phil's place, Clint standing at the front door with his arms full of bags.

"Do you want to stay?" Phil asked and Clint was pretty sure he didn't mean stay as in spend the night – though his brain provided several quick images of Clint and Phil tangled together on that bed. It wasn't the distasteful picture he'd provided himself a couple weeks ago.

"I want to do something," Clint countered, "and then you can ask me that question another day."

"What's that?" Phil said and Clint slowly leaned forward, watching Phil's blue eyes widen, until he pressed their lips together. He responded instantly, pressing soft lips back, tilting his head for a better angle, raising up his hand to rest two fingertips against Clint's neck.

It continued chastely, lips parting but no tongue or teeth involved and Clint pulled back, categorizing Phil's expression, the jump of his pulse in his throat, the slight trembling of his shoulders. He knew Phil could feel how Clint's pulse had sped up.

"I have a question I'll want answered before I ask you again."

"What's that, Phil?" 

"Why now?"

"Fair enough," Clint said, straightening back up, Phil's fingers sliding away.

Clint shifted the packages to balance in his hands more evenly now that he'd put Phil's down and backed up one step, still watching him. Phil frowned briefly then stepped forward and the two of them met for another brief kiss. 

The thing was, Phil knew about Clint's one-night stands. He probably knew about most of them, and neither of them seemed interested in being that for each other. The questions and answers would wait for another night.

 

"I want to end our deal," Clint said, closing Fury's door behind him.

"Why?"

"I don't want it hanging over my head."

"You going to pursue my Agent for real, Barton?"

"Yes," Clint said, refusing to apologize or back down, "With our without your blessing."

"Of course you have it," Fury said, returning to his work, effectively dismissing Clint and approving of the relationship.

 

Three days later, Director Nick Fury disappeared.

 

"Any luck yet?" Clint asked Phil, who was pacing back and forth in his office. "You sure it's not just a vacation?" he stood up and pulled Phil into his arms, rubbing his back.

"I'm just waiting for Maria to crack the code."

"Code?" Clint said

"Fury recorded everything that happened around him and backed it up on a private server. He must have recently changed the password – typically I can access it."

"You do that often?" Clint asked, feeling a little nervous.

"I haven't accessed it for three years." At least Phil has stopped pacing, dropping his forehead onto Clint's shoulder. They stood that way for a long minute, wrapped in each other's embrace.

"Oh."

"What's wrong, Barton?"

"I haven't given you my reason yet."

"Reason?"

"As to why now."

"And this is suddenly a good time for a heart-to-heart conversation?" Phil asked, eyes wide, incredulous.

"Yeah, it is."

"Shoot," Phil said, leaning back a little to watch Clint's expression but not far enough away to leave his arms.

"You and Nat, you're my closest friends. What Loki did to me was horrible but it opened my eyes. And then he almost killed you. I thought I couldn't live without my best friends, but that's not all of it. I don't want to stay the way I was before Loki. 

"These past couple weeks have been the most satisfying of my life, Phil. I… I've never done this but I want to try. I want to change – for me, but also for you."

Phil looked, for lack of a better word, gob smacked. "Okay," he said. "Okay." Then pulled Clint's head down and kissed him. Nothing innocent about this one, Clint's pulse was racing within seconds as Phil teased him, pressing their bodies together, nipping lip and chasing tongue. Until Maria's voice cut across the comm.

"We're in, Coulson."

Phil stepped back and took a deep breath before answering. "Copy, Hill. On my way."

"Phil," Clint said, his hands lingering on Phil's forearms. "What I just told you is nothing but the truth and all me. Okay?"

Phil raised an eyebrow in question but nodded in understanding.

Clint was going to be in trouble very soon. He was sure of it. Things moved fast following that; Coulson headed up the recovery operation for Fury and Clint didn't push him while they were on a mission. Hill insinuated that the WSC might have been behind Fury's disappearance as soon as they returned but Clint didn't care about that for a very specific, and not totally surprising, reason.

Phil Coulson resigned.

When Phil didn't contact Clint, he took it upon himself to catch Phil at his home. Only a few boxes were left and Phil was directing the cleaning crew as they began their work. He took enough time to join Clint for a short walk.

"We're not going to discuss this?"

"This being your mission to make sure I didn't leave?"

"It hasn't been about that for a while now."

"Unfortunately, I don't know how to believe that."

What was left to say after that? Clint had watched everyone he ever cared for walk away from him at some point in his life. He knew from bitter experience that telling Phil he loved him wouldn't change that. Maybe Natasha had it right after all; love was for children and fairy tales. He hadn't been a child for a long time and he never had believed in fairy tales. 

"I can leave and you can stay," Clint said in a rush. "The Avengers need you and you're good at this. You're good for them."

Scoffing at the idea, Phil shook his head. "You wanted to be a hero for a long time, Barton. Don't lie to me about leaving it all behind for my sake. I know better."

Being an Avenger, being helpful was Clint's dream, sure, but in the overall scheme, the Avengers needed Coulson more than they needed him. "I swear I'll go if you stay. Stay resigned from SHIELD and go to work for the Avengers. Consult for them privately and charge Stark a fortune." Coulson stopped walking, staring at Clint. "Give me twenty-four hours and I'll arrange all of it for you. I promise."

It wouldn't be hard. Clint owned so few things and this would keep Phil away from Fury and keep the Avengers with a liaison. Being near Captain America wouldn't hurt either from Phil's perspective. It was the least he could do to keep Phil happy. "It's six o'clock. Go to the Tower tomorrow at five and if I'm wrong, what did you lose?"

"Why?" Phil asked and Clint shrugged. He didn't have a way to explain that it was the first time he wanted to do something for an individual person. Hero work wasn't the same thing –helping a stranger was anonymous. But this was giving the one person Clint loved, not including Natasha, something _he_ wanted. It felt pretty good.

By three o'clock the following day, Clint had everything prepared. He left Rogers a letter for the team and a separate one for Natasha. She'd wait long enough to get Coulson settled before she would come find him and let him know if everything worked. Clint added some water to the almond plant and left it in Phil's room in the tower. He'd promised to leave just as he'd promised to pull the arrangements together. For all that it was bittersweet and painful, it was okay. He was giving up something – a lot of somethings – but he could start over somewhere else.

It wasn't like he was leaving his aim or his bow and arrows behind, after all. And he didn't need his heart to do his job.

 

She found him four months later; two weeks longer than expected but Clint had been keeping himself quiet. Gossip only took so long and he waited another hour before finally asking. "Is he okay?"

"Content," she admitted and Clint smiled. 

He found a home in a Midwest city after that, texting Nat the address as soon as he settled down. Within the week he had found work volunteering at soup kitchens and the local orphanage. It wasn't world-ending work but Clint enjoyed making small differences, enjoyed being there for the kids when no other adult seemed to care.

He came home to Natasha cooking in his kitchen. "Who let you in the kitchen…" he started, only to find it wasn't Nat, but Phil. "Oh. Hi."

"It took me five weeks to wheedle your address from her," Coulson said by way of greeting. "She said she hoped I broke in only to find you in bed with some hot young thing because that's what I deserved."

"I gave up bed hopping several months ago," Clint said, not really sure what else to say.

"I know."

"Why are you here, Phil?"

"Because I was wrong and I wanted to apologize."

"Six months later?"

"I know it's too little, too late, Clint."

"An email would have been faster. And cheaper."

"Except you deserve to hear this in person," Phil replied and drew a shaky breath. "I was wrong to discount what you told me, all right?"

"Yes, you were."

"Okay." Phil accepted the criticism with grace and continued to stir the sauce as if the conversation was over. Clint watched him, a little confused, and let Phil find plates for the spaghetti and bread and serve it. "Are you coming?" Phil asked as if everything was resolved.

"I will never understand you," Clint admitted, sitting down. Conversation, although awkward, began after dinner when they moved to sit in separate recliners while Clint told Phil about the kids he met and helped and working at the soup kitchen and Phil told him about the silly things Stark did, or Captain America said. 

 

It took two months of Phil returning as often as he could, continuing their less-awkward dinners and little Jeffie, whose cleft pallet left him with a lisp, to start referring to Phil as Clint's boyfriend for Clint to actually figure it out.

"Why do you say that?" Clint asked, hoisting Jeffie into the air to dunk the basketball.

"He looks at you the way Sam looks at my sister."

Huh. Apparently it was time to have a talk with Phil. Clint knew they were working on their friendship again but he'd given up any chance of a relationship. He wasn't pining because he was good with this. They'd been friends for years before Clint screwed that up and Clint honestly thought Phil was working up to asking him to return to the Avengers and New York.

Phil was slicing up steak for fajitas when Clint finally said, "Are we dating?" Phil stopped slicing and carefully set the knife down, washing his hands before turning to look at Clint.

"I thought I was still proving that we are friends before I could ask you out on an official date."

"Pretty sure you proved that, Phil, the second time you came to my place here."

"Oh," he said, biting his lip and glancing away for a moment. He might be cool and collected at work but sometimes Phil was constipated when it came to personal issues. Clint continued to wait.

"I'd like to date, yes."

"Even though I live in Chicago and you live in New York?" Clint asked, just for clarification.

"Agent Sitwell has been taking more and more missions with the Avengers," Phil said. "Natasha likes him more than me lately and he's not awkward around Captain Rogers. It's a good thing."

"Planning on moving to Chicago then?" Clint asked, unable to wrap his mind around that idea.

"I'd thought another month of this, then officially asking you out and possibly… maybe… moving in six months if it worked out. But advance plans never really work with you." Phil fidgeted a little and Clint grinned at him. A nervous Phil Coulson was still adorable.

"Were we going to talk about this?"

"In three or four weeks? After I made sure you weren't actually dating anyone."

"I'm not dating anyone, Phil."

"I can move the timetable up a month, if you like."

Clint rolled his eyes and held out his arms, letting Phil cross the kitchen to him. He kissed Phil briefly on the lips. He'd really missed that. 

"I'm sorry," Phil said, resting his head on Clint's shoulder.

"Me too," Clint admitted, wrapping his arms around Phil. Six months didn't seem too long; it would give them some time to adjust to the idea again and see if they were compatible as something more than friends – eventually. 

"Can I kiss you again?" Phil asked.

"Whenever you like," Clint said, drawing them back together.


End file.
